


Shotgun

by lizbobjones



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Divergent, Episode: s13e04 The Big Empty, M/M, mild season 13 spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 00:49:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12569956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizbobjones/pseuds/lizbobjones
Summary: Dean asks Jack what he did to Cas. Jack is happy to oblige.





	Shotgun

**Author's Note:**

> This is not remotely a fix-it for anything. Please don't read it like one.

“He said you showed him the future,” Dean said, unprompted, while they watched Sam buying snacks through the rainy windows of the Impala. It was a cowardly way to have this conversation – Dean could see Sam paying before he ever opened his mouth. This wasn’t going to take long if he could help it. “So how come you didn’t show him that he died?”

He felt successful for barely choking on the last word. Perhaps because he didn’t say any names.

Jack seemed to know who he was talking about, anyway, because his eyebrows drew together in that infuriating frown that was followed by endless “I don’t know”s, as he took too long deliberating an answer. Like he was puzzling it out for the first time and had never even considered it before. It was thoughtless. Careless. Maybe he didn’t intend to do anything he did but that didn’t mean squat to Dean. People were getting hurt – _killed_ – because the nephilim couldn’t control himself. Didn’t think until too late about what he’d even done.

“I don’t know what he saw,” Jack eventually said, and Dean had to fight not to roll his eyes and blurt that did Jack know anything – because no, he didn’t. He sounded like he was puzzling it out then and there. “I didn’t – my powers reached out to him, because I wanted – ” Jack doesn’t even same able to finish a sentence about it, screwing up his forehead and trying to peer back down memories into the womb until he flinches from the effort and draws back, his face haunted.

“What.” Dean asked, no ground left to brace himself against for whatever fresh hell Jack could bring into their lives. He squeezed the top of the seat so hard his knuckles went white.

Jack tipped his head, just a bit, just enough, really. “I don’t know what he saw, but I think I remember what I did. Perhaps –”

“Can you show me what he saw?”

“I don’t –” He hesitated again, staring at his own hand in deep consternation.

“Stop saying you don’t know! Can you do it or not?”

“Yes. I can show you.”

Jack leaned forward from the back seat with a sudden movement, reached over and hesitated, hand extended. Dean looked down at it, then back at Jack’s face, which was fading from eager to worried, like he had over-stepped. Like he actually cared about upsetting Dean.

Dean let himself roll his eyes. Why not – what did he even have to lose at this point? He tipped his head to Jack – _just go ahead_ , and didn’t do more than raise his eyebrows when Jack gently pried Dean’s hand up from the back of the seat and laced their fingers together. In the last moment of his current awareness, Dean saw Jack’s eyes flare gold, power coursing through his hand and into Dean’s, cold-hot like angel grace.

*

Dean groggily came to in his own bed. He sat up gingerly, feeling a pounding headache assault him at once. He looked for the whiskey bottle to blame, not tucked in beside him, but his nightstand was also clear, of glasses and empty beer bottles too.

Maybe Sam had come in and cleared them off, which gave him a little sting of shame, especially that he’d slept through it in a stupor.

He pulled his robe on and shuffled off in search of coffee. His headache had started to settle down almost immediately, but a fogginess remained, a vagueness about his recent life that he couldn’t place.

The nephilim was in the kitchen, sitting on the end of the table, coffee in one hand, a tablet in the other. The text was scrolling without him touching it.

Well, it answered the question about the coffee, so Dean turned away and helped himself, ignoring everything else about the scene.

“I think I’ve found a case.”

Dean looked around from the coffee machine and blinked a few times, realising that he’d conjured a Sam that wasn’t there. They were still alone in the room.

“You – what?”

“Three women have been found drained of blood in the last month in Colorado Springs. It sounds like vampires, doesn’t it?”

Dean stared at him – dressed in a white t-shirt, with a plaid shirt tied around his waist, and that stupid mild smile turning slowly to a furrowed brow.

“Doesn’t it?” he asked carefully, more uncertainly.

 “Yes,” Dean admitted, on hunting autopilot. “It does.”

 They stood awkwardly not moving, Dean trapped by the coffee machine.

“Do you – do you want to check it out?”

Was he trying to get rid of Dean? Everything was spinning too fast. Dean couldn’t work out how any of this had happened – being spoken to like this like his approval was expected. Being talked to about hunts and – and that damn iPad.

“Yes,” he said. “Okay.” It would do him good to escape from this anyway. To slip out before Sam was awake, no need to deal with the fall out of that argument any longer.

He could take this tip, regardless of where it had come from.

And be unnerved about how rapidly Jack was changing on the drive.

He snatched the tablet and read enough to find the article for himself later, shoved it back at Jack’s chest, and stomped out of the kitchen to finish his coffee while he packed.

*

Jack was leaning on the car when Dean got there with his duffel bag on his shoulder. For the second time that day he stopped short.

“Uh, what are you doing?”

Jack hefted up a backpack from the floor. “Until Sam gets back, I get shotgun. Unless you’re going to let me drive.” He grinned at Dean. _Grinned_.

Dean wanted to yell at him. Punch him, maybe, and screw the consequences of taking it out on the invulnerable magic child with the hair trigger on his powers.

The snark, though. It was so friendly and familiar. This wasn’t how Jack looked at him. He’d been through enough rounds of this shit to trust his instincts. This wasn’t his world. He popped the trunk.

“What the hell?” he muttered to himself under that cover. He lifted up the false bottom and had a second “What the hell.” follow on its heels.

It wasn’t quite like someone had been messing around in there. If he’d blame anyone for the changes, he would have blamed himself, because the method to the madness of his weapon stash still followed his own logic.

But they had never had a four foot long sword, that superficially resembled the one that Claire had once made off with, but this one was glittering with a sleek, shiny threat of power. There was a dusty, scarred gun that looked like it had resisted Dean’s attempts to clean it; it had all the similar modifications that the alternate – that he’d got to shoot on the other side of the rift. And a large tin of bullets in similar poor repair to go with it, with a label on top: “M – in case of emergency” in a handwriting that made Dean’s heart ache.

Their big stash of holy water was also now apparently being kept in a four litre gas-n-sip slurpee refill bottle, which wasn’t exactly heart rending but did raise its own questions that gave him pause for thought.

They also had several new machetes and guns, like they weren’t just keeping enough for the two of them.

Jack appeared at his side, backpack slung on his shoulder. “Are you all right?” He tipped his head curiously, and Dean’s heart went from aching to furiously pounding with frustration and anger. He had to look away.

“It’s nothing.”

Jack reached in and pulled out the sword. In his hand yellow energy seemed to shine along its surfaces, a faint crackle of electricity coming from it. “Do you think this is cheating for a vampire hunt?”

“W-we’re going to want to be stealthy,” Dean croaked, completely thrown by Jack making a joke to clear him up. And slightly terrified of his power and whatever that weapon was that he was so cheerfully allowing Dean to keep in the back of the car with all his crap. Jack was like a different person to the weird kid Dean knew. The nephilim’s whole demeanour was more relaxed. Grinning up at Dean.

He picked up a machete and shoved it at him. “Stick to what works,” he grumbled, hoping this sounded like playing along to whatever it wanted. He closed the weapons stash, threw their bags in and slammed the trunk.

What was the last thing he remembered?

Mary disappearing into the rift. Cas – Cas lying at his feet. A pyre. Days of no sleep,  too much action, every beer he could sneak in between. No sleep. Not unless he passed out, from exhaustion or not. And the fight with Sam. A case to pull them out on the road, and –

Had the kid made Sam disappear for a take two at this? Had the tension in the car been that bad? Sam had insisted that he come, dragged the nephilim out because maybe learning what we do will help him, Dean. Saving people, hunting things. Didn’t you once say that to me when I most needed to hear it and remember what our purpose is, Dean?

Dean had stomped off but he’d still found himself in the car with Jack in the back seat making resentment bubble up every time Dean looked in the mirror.

Yeah, being forced to put up with Jack was not going away, no matter how hard he wished.

At least before whatever Jack had done, he hadn’t been sitting up front, messing with the radio.

Dean shoved the box of cassettes at him without looking. Whatever he picked, Dean could turn it up loud and drown him out for the rest of the drive.

And Dean could wait for the kicker of whatever Jack had done, and he’d be ready for it.

*

The morgue was not hard to sweet talk their way into. Jack made a good trainee agent who had to see these bodies for experience. Fresh-faced, curious, unafraid, and polite to a fault, after the first desk they had to bluff past, Dean got the message and grudgingly let him do the talking, standing back, a stern observer evaluating his performance.

When had he learned all these concepts? He’d tied his own tie, done his shoelaces, even gone and brushed his teeth, while Dean waited mutely, wondering if the sword in the back of the car would kill Jack. How had it got there? Why were there angel-killing bullets in the car?

Maybe that was the key to the answer. Another world, a reality where things had gone differently at the rift.

But would –

Dean couldn’t allow himself to think anywhere past that point. It was not just a dangerous thought. It would destroy him.

They were at a place that did burgers and milkshakes. Jack had both, and was looking at his pictures of the vamp bites and Dean hadn’t even processed anything between staring at Jack in the morgue and here.

“All these attacks are on the other side of town from where there are all the abandoned properties.”

“What.”

“You taught me to look for abandoned buildings to find a vampire nest. I’m asking your opinion on this contradiction.”

“There’s – there’s nowhere they could be in this part of town? It’s not always old farms and warehouses.” He could do this, he thought. It was his job. Just switch on that reflex to work the case and sit back and let it happen.

Jack marvelled at the concept Dean had brought up, then changed his search accordingly.

Apparently Dean had ordered his own burger, so he took a fry, even though he didn’t really feel hungry. He watched Jack stare down the tablet, willing it to give him the info he wanted.

“There’s an abandoned nightclub a block away. It’s the only place that fits all the requirements. It’s still a few hours from sun down. Should we scope it out?”

“S-sure. Get this over and done with.”

Jack looked up and gave him a mysteriously knowing smile, and Dean wondered if he was sympathising, and what exactly for, because he had no clue how freaked out Dean was about all this. Apparently Sam was off doing his own thing. Would this Sam understand? Dean hadn’t dared check his phone yet, for fear of what else he’d find. But once he had Sam back things would make sense. He could get him alone and – hope in this world he had a less messed up view of Jack. Be ready to accept something seriously bad had happened to Dean because of the kid. Back him up so they could set things right.

“You can’t wait to go home, can you?” He looked so pleased.

Dean swallowed and shrugged. “I – I like a job you can do in a day. In and out, case closed, bloodsuckers ganked.”

Jack laughed to himself, smirking at Dean like he knew there was more.

Dean grabbed the tablet from him to look at the street map the kid had pulled up. He could do the job on autopilot, while he waited for this to start to stink. It wouldn’t be long, he figured. And he could keep a sharp eye on Jack until it did.

Jack sucked noisily at his milkshake, delighted at the noise his straw was making.

*

The vamp nest practically had neon lights on it saying “shady vamp den”. It _did_ have neon lights which were now all broken and dark.

They’d boarded it all up to keep the sun out, and a faint smell of death and blood wafted out as soon as Dean pried the door open.

He gestured Jack to stay close, and took the stairs carefully. The walls were painted maroon and black, covered in peeling posters but very little graffiti. There was no rubbish, and not because vampires were known for being clean. This was not the sort of abandoned place you broke into for fun or to sleep off the streets – not if you wanted to come back out again.

The door to the club upstairs had a dozen locks.

Jack pressed a hand to it and they all clicked at once. He grinned at Dean, expecting praise like a puppy that had done a trick for the first time.

Dean shook his head, rolling his eyes to himself, and readied the machete, before he eased open the door.

There were only five vamps – one sleeping on the bar, three snoozing at the edge of the dancefloor in cots they’d put up. The fifth was awake and looked up from a girl he was drinking on the stage. Blood was smeared around his mouth. He snarled at them and leapt to his feet. “Hunters!”

Dean edged further into the room, swirling his knife expectantly, feeling the wrist action. “Let’s boogie,” he said, and the vampire ran at him.

Jack dashed to the victim. Dean didn’t notice at first – didn’t think about side distractions as he decapitated the first vampire, then swung around to deal with the ones who’d woken up at the shout.

He still had it – perhaps he got knocked back into the bar and had to get creative with the dry beer taps until he could roll back to his machete, but all in all it was an easy fight and there were five less vamps in the world, and that was his job done.

Jack sat with the girl, a makeshift bandage on her neck, his jacket around her shoulders.

Dean indicated her with a nod. “Is she okay?” He asked it more harshly than he meant, at least in front of a trembling, barely conscious woman.

“The bleeding stopped,” Jack said, carefully, like he wasn’t saying the full story of how she was upright and stable against all medical expectations.

Dean came over and bent to talk to her. “What’s your name?”

She shook her head and barely whispered something that sounded like Sharon. She was shaking, in shock. Jack had an arm around her, and Dean couldn’t get past how he was comforting her, hand rubbing comforting circles just like Dean would do.

Her eyes widened, and Jack looked up sharply and yelled – “Behind you!”

Six vamps.

Dean hit the floor, pinned by a hissing, furious vampire, teeth bared, Dean’s head reeling from the thump he took when he was grabbed.

And the noise of a machete cutting through sinew and spine in a smooth, efficient arc, and Jack was standing over him instead, offering a hand to Dean.

Dean, still prone on his back, stared at Jack for what felt like the first time. And took his hand.

As he got his bearings, back on his feet but swaying slightly still, Jack said “Oh!” and bent again to pick something up off the floor. “This must have fallen out of your pocket.” He turned it over in his hands, looking at the small black box with true obliviousness. A weight fell into Dean’s stomach like it had dived there from the stratosphere.

“What is it?” Jack asked, and with curiosity, he popped open the box. A plain silver ring sat embedded in dark velvet.

Dean felt his head swirling – from the mild concussion, the total loss of self around whatever Jack had done to him, and –

“Oh, I don’t –”

“I’m done with this,” Dean said. “I’m done with going along with this. I don’t care what you did or why – you’re sending me back right freaking now.”

“I don’t –”

“No, you don’t know! You never freaking know! You’re a goddamn dangerous loose cannon that just does whatever you like and messes with people’s heads. You’re going to send me back to my reality right now or so help me God, I will start finding a way to kill you _right here and now_.”

Jack’s eyes flared yellow, and for lack of anything else, Dean raised his machete. Lopping the thing’s head off would slow it down at least –

Jack didn’t move to defend himself, or to attack Dean. Instead he tipped his head, brows drawing together as he processed something far away. “It’s the future,” he said, sounding amazed and completely unconcerned about Dean’s behaviour. “I’m showing you the future right now, from our past. I’m only a couple of weeks old to you – and Castiel is still dead. No wonder you –”

Dean swung the machete.

*

Dean jolted back to awareness. His fingers were linked with Jack’s still, and golden energy was still seeping back into Jack.

Sam opened the passenger side door and Dean yanked his hand back. Sam leaned in to hand Jack a bag of road food to put on the back seat, where the cooler took the fourth spot. Sam started to climb into the car.

“Wait, hold up there,” Dean said, his voice sounding unfamiliar to his own ears, with the optimism ringing through it. “I think Jack deserves a turn riding shotgun.”


End file.
